


Taxing

by ozonecologne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dom!Cas, Drug Use, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, M/M, Sub!Dean, alpha!cas, omega!dean, straight up porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 17:51:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4445996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozonecologne/pseuds/ozonecologne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill: a/b/o. When I think Omega I think Dean Smith. Sorry but them’s the breaks.</p><p>Basically 3.5k of Dean Smith giving Endverse!Cas road head in a taxi cab.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taxing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [currentlycrying](https://archiveofourown.org/users/currentlycrying/gifts).



His alarm went off at 6:00 sharp. He was showered and dressed in a collared-shirt-suspenders combo by 6:20. Morning paper was in his hands by 6:25. Green tea was brewed and in his favorite mug by 6:32. He was out the door by 6:45. He was prompt, sharp, and clean, but Dean still found himself sighing as he walked through the front doors of his office building.

It wasn’t that Dean hated his job – far from it. He was very proud of what he’d built at Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc. That was their slogan: “Building The Dream.” He was well liked in the office, recently awarded a _more than generous_ bonus, and according to his boss a strong candidate for Senior VP Eastern/Great Lakes Division.

Well, he saidthat.

But truth was Dean was running himself into the ground trying to keep up. Climbing the corporate ladder was a huge commitment: Adler told him the job was his, sure, so long as he worked overtime 7 days a week and took lunch at his desk for the next 8 to 10 years. He hadn’t spoken to his family in months, and even his bratty younger sister had stopped bugging him to come visit. He was hungry all the time trying to stick to this new diet plan, and he was still flushing that lemon/cayenne pepper cleanse out of his system.

And on top of all that, his fancy new hybrid broke down on Sunday.

Weeks like this made it hard for Dean to stay positive. What was he working so hard for? Everyone knew that Dean deserved that promotion, but the reality was that they were probably going to hand it over to some young, ambitious Alpha cheating his way to the top because he feels like he’s owed it. Omegas don’t getpromoted. Omegas _serve_ until they _die_.

So after he rinsed his favorite back-up mug in the break room sink, chatted with the intern about last night’s Project Runway, and took the earpiece out of his ear, Dean was slinking out the door and looking for his ride home.

There was a cab parked at the end of the block. Dean shuffled over and collapsed into the leather seats with his messenger bag at his feet.

“6th and Exeter,” Dean told the cabbie.

He sat back and took a deep breath in before wrinkling his nose and discreetly coughing into his sleeve. The car reeked of – fuck, was that absinthe? Something very, very strong. It drowned out every other scent in the car, just barely overpowered olfactory remnants of every other passenger who had sat right where Dean was sitting earlier today, all mingling together and confusing his senses. Taking cabs at the tail end of rush hour is the pits.

The cabbie stretched his arms up into the roof of the cab with a yawn and a (admittedly sort of cute) sleepy murmur and put the cab in drive. “Sure thing,” he rumbled.

All Dean caught was a flash of blue eyes in the rearview mirror before he turned to just press his face against the glass and watch the city go by. He let himself drift until he was back home.

He hoped he tipped the cabbie well, as it is sort of a long commute from Dean’s office and back, but he was just too tired to really count. The cab pulled away from the curb only once Dean was safely inside his apartment building and the doorman was waving the elevator open for him.

Once back in his apartment, Dean yanked off his tie – a brilliant, bright crimson – and headed straight for the shower. Maybe tonight he could wash the city off of him and massage the knots out of his shoulders before getting a good night’s sleep. He had to look forward to the little things.

He just had to do it all again tomorrow anyway.

 

Another draining day of memos, spreadsheets, and conference calls (plus one incident of harassment on the train in – sexist assholes) and Dean was in another rotten mood. He wanted nothing more than to go home and wrap himself up in Egyptian cotton sheets.

He recognized the cab the moment he slid into it. Still the strong, unpleasant smell of weed and alcohol over anything else. He’s always had an extremely sensitive nose, even by normal standards.

The cabbie had his feet up on the dashboard when Dean slid in, as if he weren’t expecting someone to take him up on an offer of business. “Ah,” the man said as the door shut behind him. “You again!”

Dean frowned, taking in the ratty hems of the cabbie’s light wash jeans and his dusty sandals. “Do I know you?”

The cabbie slid his feet off of the dashboard and tucked them neatly under himself, straightening up a little as he did so. “Oh, not really. But I never forget a face. Homeward bound, are we?”

The cabbie put the cab into drive and glanced up waiting for Dean’s instruction. Dean barely remembered those blue eyes from his dreamlike commute home the other night.

“Um, yeah,” Dean answered, blinking.

The driver hummed to himself and confidently pulled into traffic, like he knew where he was going, cranking the radio a smidge and tapping his fingers distractedly on the wheel.

Five minutes in, Dean was already getting a headache. “Could you turn that down?” he asked. The cabbie was playing some loud rock song with a pitchy, screaming lead singer. It was in no way relaxing.

The driver gave no indication that he actually heard Dean, which was entirely possible between the rock song and the traffic. “Hey,” Dean repeated, knocking on the fiberglass partition separating the two of them. “Turn it down?”

The cabbie leaned back in his seat with the same sleepy sigh Dean had heard the last time he’d been in this cab, and his fingers didn’t even so much as twitch in the direction of the radio. “Did you say something?” he asked Dean.

Dean just sighed and thumped his forehead against the window with his eyes closed. “No, nothing. Never mind,” he conceded. Might as well just try to block it out then.

The cabbie shrugged and started drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, easy and relaxed.

“So what is it you do in there?” the cabbie asked him suddenly. “Whatever it is, looks like it takes the piss out of you.”

Dean sighed. “Look, man, I’m really tired ok? Let’s have show-and-tell some other time.”

“Alrighty,” the cabbie said, though it wasn’t hostile or passive aggressive in the slightest. He seemed perfectly happy to remain quiet. Probably a Beta.

Instead of talking, he reached over to the glove compartment and removed a small object from the depths of it. Dean couldn’t help but watch the movement, slender fingers curling around an orange –

“Amphetamines?” Dean asked, reading the label on the bottle and bolting straight up.

“Perfect antidote to that absinthe. Want some?” the cabbie asked, popping two into his mouth.

“What, are you stoned?” Dean exclaimed.

The man gave a sardonic laugh. “Generally, yeah.”

“You’re driving!” Dean spluttered, plastering himself against the seat. God, he hoped the seatbelts and airbags were functioning properly, since his driver apparently decided to get high off his ass on the ticket.

The cabbie seemed unconcerned by Dean’s sudden panic. “It would appear so, yes,” he said, placing the pill bottle back into the glove compartment. “Gotta liven this ride up _somehow_ ,” he added – which, what? What was he trying to say? That Dean was _boring_?

Dean glanced at the mounted license on the back of the partition. _Vehicle Operator’s License: Castiel Winchester, Issue Date, Exp. Date_ – grainy picture of his cabbie flashing a lazy smile. He was kind of… hot? If Dean wasn’t fearing for his life.

“Cas-tee-el? Right? Could you, uh, could you just pull over?”

Castiel turned over his shoulder slightly so that Dean caught the edge of a sharp profile. “What was that?”

He snapped. _Cocky fucking prick._ “Pull over,” Dean said more firmly, unbuckling his seatbelt. The cab skidded to a stop a moment later.

Castiel was laughing.

“What?” Dean demanded, getting his things together before he ditched this guy faster than a bad merger. “What’s so funny?”

Castiel shrugged, still half-turned towards Dean. “Just wondering if you were ever going to stand up for yourself. Congratulations.”

Dean froze with his hand on the handle. “I know how to stand up for myself,” he told him, with as much authority as he could muster.

“Oh, sure,” Castiel lilted, leaning back in his seat again. “You come out of that big corporate building, looking miserable as all hell, slide into a cab and limp back to your apartment, and expect me to believe that you’re happy? In charge of your life? Ok,” he said. “You couldn’t even ask me to turn off the radio.”

Before Dean could respond, Castiel was trying to shove a half-empty bottle of tequila through the partition. “Here – I think you need this more than I do.”

Dean swatted the bottle away and sneered. “This is so many kinds of illegal,” he said, opening the door.

“Oh, what are you gonna do? Report me?”

Dean was fuming by the time he was stepping out onto the sidewalk. “Ha! Have a nice life, asshole,” he grumbled, shouldering his bag and walking down the street.

Dean refused to cave and look over at him, but out of the corner of his eye he was watching Castiel’s cab stubbornly roll alongside him. He almost ran into a light post wondering if the guy was ever going to leave him alone. He was taunting him.

The cabbie’s words had stung, but they were not untrue.

Dean was a pushover, he knew it, and he wasn’t sure how much of it was biology. You could always tell looking at the Smith kids which one was the Alpha: Jo was rowdy and mouthy and always covered in dirt while Dean was impeccably groomed, quiet, polite, the perfect child. He kept Jo in line, and she was always prodding him to be rougher with her. That just wasn’t who he was.

He called everybody at the office “Sir” because he was taught to respect Alphas, and everyone he worked with was an Alpha. He didn’t have time to go to the gym because he was always working, but he still felt pressure to look presentable (not weak. Trim, strong, competent, like an _Alpha_ ) so he dieted. He worked harder than anyone he knew and got the least for it. He was constantly trying to please other people.

He’s always been self-conscious about it.

He loosened the tie around his neck, too tight like a noose, and belatedly noticed that it was the exact same color as Castiel’s eyes. Castiel, who pushed and pushed him until Dean had cracked, snapped at a stranger in an uncharacteristic bout of aggression.

He stopped on the sidewalk, and the cab stopped too. People behind him were honking. Dean growled a little to himself, walked back over to the cab, and yanked the passenger door open.

“If you think I’m sitting back _there_ again, you’re crazier than I thought,” Dean snarled, sliding into the front seat. “So just drive.”

Castiel grinned beside him. “Now that’s more like it.”

Dean crossed his arms and huffed, side eyeing his cabbie. Up close, he was even more attractive than his license picture and Dean hated him for it: messy dark hair, a few days’ worth of stubble that would definitely hurt in a good way if rubbed against his skin, a sharp nose, full lips…

Dean took an experimental sniff in the air and his eyes blew wide.

“Whoa,” he gasped, trying not to trail off into a moan. Underneath all that absinthe – which Dean couldn’t get to the root of in the back seat – Castiel smelled like _heaven_ , like leather and dryer sheets. Every single hair on Dean’s body was standing straight on end. He hadn’t even known the guy was an Alpha.

But that… wow, yeah, that was definitely Alpha: non-threatening and strong.

Castiel closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest in response. Dean didn’t even care that they were supposed to be driving. Everything in his head was overridden by the barrage of _CasCasCasCasmatematematemate_.

Castiel made an approving sound in the back of his throat that sounded suspiciously like the beginnings of a growl and smiled like he could hear Dean’s thoughts. “You smell divine,” he said. “I hadn’t noticed before.”

“Uh huh,” Dean practically whined, clenching his fists tight into the material of his messenger bag. He was certainly glad it was positioned in his lap – it might just keep him from doing something stupid.

Castiel took one more deep breath before sitting back up again and fixing his eyes firmly on the road. Dean noticed his knuckles were almost white on the steering wheel, and that telltale Alpha red was swallowing just the edges of those beautiful blue eyes of his. Dean clenched his teeth together so hard he thought his jaw might snap.

_You can’t just ask to fuck a guy in the front seat of his cab, Smith. Have a little respect for yourself._

“What’s your name?” Castiel asked, gripping the steering wheel tighter as he unintentionally caught another whiff of Dean’s scent. The Omega was practically radiating pheromones, and at such a close distance his body heat and intense gaze were almost impossible for Cas to ignore.

“Dean,” he offered.

“Dean what?” Castiel asked. He shifted in his seat.

Dean dropped his eyes to Castiel’s chest, his stomach, his thighs and back up before answering. “Smith.”

Castiel snorted. “Did you just make that up?”

“No.”

“Hm.”

Dean couldn’t stand it anymore. “You should – you can… touch, you know.”

Castiel’s lips twitched a little and he shook his head. “I thought you didn’t want me distracted while driving,” he murmured, shifting uncomfortably in his seat again. Fighting temptation.

Dean shook his head. “That was then.”

“No, no, you were right. I could lose my license like that. At the next red light, maybe.”

Son of a bitch, he was _enjoying_ this, wasn’t he? Castiel was a _tease_ , that was his whole game, Dean realized. “‘Maybe?’” he growled incredulously.

Castiel chuckled softly. “What have I been telling you this whole time, Dean? Stand up for yourself.”

With another sigh, he relaxed his hands slightly on the steering wheel. “Take what you want.”

Dean froze. _Take what you want_. Those words echoing in his mind made his heart thump louder, his breath come quicker. He should listen to this dirty hippie.

“Go on,” Castiel breathed out, and it was like he flipped a switch.

Dean closed the distance between them and dove straight in against Castiel’s neck, placing a soft flurry of kisses to his pulse point before running his teeth over his ear lobe. Cas groaned low and loud when Dean reached for his fly. He was already hard in those tattered, trashy jeans of his. There was a soy sauce stain on his upper thigh and Dean couldn’t care less.

He coaxed him out of the open V of his jeans – son of a bitch was _commando_ , for the love of – and stroked up a few times as he rubbed his cheek against Castiel’s, scenting him, making sure that Cas could smell only him. The cabbie was breathing a little heavier, grinning like a madman, and Dean nipped at the corner of his jaw. “Want it. Want you,” he whispered.

Castiel splayed his legs as far as they would go in the confines of the front seat, and that was a blatant invitation if Dean ever saw one.

Without a moment’s shame or hesitation he bent over Castiel’s lap, careful not to knock his head on the steering wheel or a wayward elbow. With a glance sideways and upwards through his lashes that he tried to make look more self-assured than panicky, Dean closed his lips around the head of Castiel’s cock and sucked like his life depended on it.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Castiel drawled. “Fuck, ah, knew you’d be good at this, Dean.”

The praise went right to Dean’s core – approval from his Alpha, the rush of satisfaction from bringing him pleasure. Dean was wired, drunk off adrenaline already.

_I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this._

He swirled his tongue and hollowed out his cheeks as he bobbed up and down, trying to get a rhythm going despite the uncomfortable contortion necessary to accommodate it. The drugs Castiel had taken earlier must have started to kick in, because his pupils were blown wider than Dean thought was medically safe. Whatever iris was showing was burning red, deep and scorching.

 _I can’t_ believe _I am doing this!_

When they hit a red light, Castiel took his hands off the steering wheel. He placed them behind his head instead, locking his fingers together as he watched Dean work, who suddenly had a lot more space to move. He drew small designs with just the tips of his fingers into Castiel’s knee cap, dragged them up his thigh and back down again as he worked, lighting every one of Castiel’s nerves on fire.

The light turned green and they were driving again. In starts and stops, that is.

“You’re fucking amazing, you know? Look at you. So beautiful, so…” Castiel kept murmuring over and over, random nonsense that was entirely Dean-inspired. He dropped one hand into Dean’s hair, a steady pressure at the base of his skull only to encourage him.

Castiel wanted to play that way, fine – but Dean was going to play, too. He pulled off Castiel’s cock with a smirk despite the Alpha’s muffled snarl.

“Both hands on the wheel, champ,” Dean demanded, making sure his words ghosted over Castiel’s wet, sensitive skin.

Cas laughed deliriously and put his hand obediently back up on the wheel. “Oh, what have I done? I’ve created a monster.”

Hands back where they should be, Dean sunk back down into Castiel’s lap with a satisfied hum that he was sure Castiel would feel _all_ the way up.

“Dean,” he heard above him, just barely.

Another goddamn rock song was playing, loud and clear on the radio. Castiel was barely even staying in his lane. A fat bead of precome hit Dean’s tongue and he couldn’t hold back another moan – Cas tasted better than anything on the god damned planet. Dean swiveled his head and took Castiel deeper, feeling entirely too pleased with himself as he did so.

“ _Fuck._ ”

Castiel’s cock was hard and throbbing against the back of Dean’s throat and this, this was intoxicating. He was the one with all the power here, capable of reducing the Alpha above him to a quivering, barely coherent mess. The cab squealed and jerked along the road and they were being honked at, but to Dean it just sounded like applause, come and spit squeezing out the corners of his mouth and down his chin.

And Cas kept rambling in between moans as he jerked his hips up in desperate little circles, fucking into Dean’s mouth. He kept telling Dean how good he was, how beautiful, and Dean could just about cry from the stimulation. He could feel slick leaking out of him, a little more every second this went on, and he couldn’t help grinding into the seat once or twice on the upstroke.

Castiel’s eyes were screwed shut and his mouth was gaping in ecstasy as his Omega continued to work him over. “Dean – Dean, stop, I –” Castiel stuttered, gripping Dean’s hair again and urging him off his cock.

Dean’s lips and chin were shining when he pulled off. He was trembling faintly, choked by the thick smell of arousal in the cab. The base of Castiel’s cock was swollen, knot ready to pop right there in the fucking car. “Oh come on –”

“Not now, not now,” Castiel repeated, dazedly dragging one hand through Dean’s short hair. This time, he let him. Cas’s other hand was locked tight on the steering wheel. They were a block from Dean’s apartment.

“Come home with me,” Dean urged, nuzzling into Cas’s neck again. He put his hand on Cas’s thigh and whimpered. “Please.” He meant to sound commanding, sexy even, but the offer came out whiny, needy, and Dean had never heard himself so fucked out before.

Castiel groaned and put the cab in park.

 

Dean ended up getting that promotion in half the time Adler said he would. His boss was thoroughly impressed with Dean’s drive and dedication, which mysteriously seemed to manifest themselves in only the last few years. The plate on the door of his new office reads, “Dean Winchester, Senior VP.”

His Alpha rewards him handsomely when he gets home that night.

**Author's Note:**

> hoo boy. Dana, I really hope this is what you were looking for.  
> Visit me on [tumblr](http://www.ozonecologne.tumblr.com) to convert me to Jesus and get me to repent for my sins


End file.
